


Won't Let Go

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, OT3, signs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Geralt and Yennefer both know Jaskier isn'tcompletelyhuman. After all, he hasn't aged in the past decade, but he's also never confided in them what he is, nor what he's capable of.Neither of them expected this.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 34
Kudos: 770
Collections: Don't Wanna Get Rid Of You, Just.... So cute...





	Won't Let Go

For years it’s been the three of them: The Witcher, The Sorceress, and The Bard. It took them many more years of knowing each other, of arguments and false starts, of soft moments and sweet gestures to get to this point, a balance. They come together, and drift apart for their lives are not completely tethered to only each other. Geralt still winters in Kaer Morhen with his brothers. Yennefer travels for pleasure and power. Jaskier veers off course for festivals in the cities, well paying court performances, and still teaches his winters away at Oxenfurt. 

This time, it’s Yennefer who stays in Novigrad waiting for a particularly rare spell book to arrive. Geralt likes these moments on the road with just Jaskier. For the first nearly two decades of knowing the man he hadn’t appreciated them the way he should have. He has a new perspective now. 

He knows Jaskier isn’t completely human. Yennefer pointed out the fact that he doesn’t age several years previous, but Jaskier never confided in either of them. It irritates Yennefer. Geralt’s indifferent to it. He loves Jaskier regardless. He wonders if knowing would taint that. Hopes it wouldn’t, but fears finding out. 

Jaskier’s fingers run through a series of notes that is quickly becoming familiar to Geralt, a new song, one Jaskier only mouths the words to, not yet ready to commit to them. 

It’s nice. 

A Witcher’s life has too few nice moments. 

Which is why he shouldn’t have been surprised when Jaskier suddenly plays a sour note, and Geralt hears the way his heart speeds up. Jaskier slowly turns back the way they came, stares at the dirt road. 

“Jask?”

“Something is wrong,” he says, flat and distant.

“How do—”

“It’s Yen,” Jaskier says with increasing panic. “Something’s wrong.” 

Jaskier’s face has lost all colour, his blue eyes seem to be darker. He’s breathing too fast, verging on hyperventilating. It does something to Geralt’s insides that he doesn’t like thinking about, it feels distinctly like fear. “You need to breathe—”

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s face in both hands, they aren’t careful, aren’t loving, it’s forceful, demanding. “Take Roach. Go back to Novigrad. Find Yennefer. _Something’s wrong_. Now!” 

Geralt doesn’t want to leave Jaskier, especially not like this. Yet, there is something steady about him, and Geralt realizes it’s that almost too slow _bu-dum, bu-dum, bu-dum_ of Jaskier’s heart. He doesn’t want to leave, but he also trusts Jaskier implicitly. 

He doesn’t waste more time asking questions, even though he’s has many. He mounts Roach and is off back toward Novigrad. He doesn’t even look back. 

°°°

The book store is a mess, it reeks of magic and blood. He follows the scuff marks on the floor out the back door into an alley. He ignores all the scents of the street, locks in on the scent of Yennefer, of lilac and gooseberries. He follows it into a decrepit house. It’s empty. The scent is light, but it lingers, he paces trying to figure out where to go next. 

The floorboard creeks. He rips up the rug and finds a hatch. Sword in hand, he pulls open the door, and jumps down. With one powerful swing the guard’s head rolls to the floor before he could ever alert anyone. 

Remembering the panic in Jaskier’s voice, he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t go slow and careful, he rushes forward, and blasts open the door with Aard. 

It’s a mistake. 

There are ten men in the room, all armed to the teeth. 

_Fuck._

The aard had knocked back the closest guards, but the rest attack as a group. He manages to cast quen, and keep moving, he rolls out of the way, and shackled in the corner of the room he sees Yennefer. She doesn’t move. 

The men have obviously trained as a group. They circle Geralt like prey, and he has no choice but to leave his back open to at least one of them. He keeps casting quen like his life depends on it, because it does. He feels the protective barrier shatter at his back, a pressure, pop. 

He keeps moving, keeps fighting even knowing it’s not going to be enough.

Yennefer needs him. 

Jaskier is counting on him. 

He doesn’t want to fail them. He casts aard this time, knocking five of the men across the room. He whirls around on the remainder, hoping that it’ll take a while for the others to get back up. 

Lemongrass and parchment. Jaskier. Geralt is so in tune with his companion, it’s why he noticed, but the other men haven’t. Jaskier sneaks directly over to Yennefer. Geralt’s never asked about the lock-picks Jaskier never uses around him. Geralt knows that Jaskier knows that he knows, but has never offered up any explanation for them. Geralt doesn’t care so long as Jaskier can get Yennefer out of here. 

Yennefer stirs a little, and it warms him even as it distracts him from the fight. She will be okay. Jaskier will get her out. Geralt just has to keep the attention on him for a while longer. 

Swords clash. Blood spills. Men scream, a few die. 

Then, three things happen in quick succession; Quen bursts, Jaskier screams his name, and a sword stabs right through him. 

The screaming doesn’t stop. 

If anything, the screaming gets louder, it vibrates through Geralt’s entire being. He can barely feel pain when he’s so fucking confused. The sword is pulled back, and he falls to his knees. 

The sword has hit something vital. He’s dying, he knows, he feels adrift from his body even as it crumples to the side. 

The screaming becomes louder, louder still. 

There is chaos, he can taste it on his tongue. There are screams that are not _the scream_. 

There are hands on his body. 

Lilac and gooseberries. 

Purple eyes. 

Her sweet kiss on his lips. 

Words he can’t hear, not over the scream, that long, wordless wail. Yennefer is saying something and he tries so hard to pay attention, he wants to memorize her voice, her face but things are blurry and disconnected. He feels pain, and chaos, but it fades until he feels nothing. He sees nothing. He tastes nothing. He smells nothing. 

There is nothing but the scream that vibrates his bones. It’s the purest grief he’s ever known. It’s not an olive branch, but a shackle, a grip so tight. 

The scream won’t let go. 

He feels pain again. Smells chaos. Tastes blood. Opens his eyes to see Yennefer crying, her hand over the wound, pouring power into him. He’ll live. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, my Witcher,” she says, unevenly. “You don’t get to leave me, not yet, not like this.” 

He hears her. 

There is no more screaming. 

He tries to sit up, but she doesn’t let him. He turns his head, and there, across the room by the shackles Yennefer had been freed from, is Jaskier. He’s on his knees, like a man in prayer, a small wounded sound escapes him. Then he’s on his feet, stumbling across the room to them, dropping to his knees so fast that Geralt hears them slam against the stone. 

Jaskier opens his mouth as if to speak but no words follow. There is blood on his teeth. Geralt worries one of the men hit Jaskier, reaches up to cup his face. Jaskier leans into the touch, then practically becomes boneless, draping himself over Geralt. 

“Careful,” Yennefer scolds. 

Jaskier keens, and Geralt feels it in his soul. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist, holds him. He’s drifting again. This time it’s peaceful. 

°°°

Geralt wakes in a comfortable bed, feeling safe and warm. Lilacs and parchment, gooseberries and lemongrass. Jaskier has his head on his shoulder, his leg over Geralt’s, and at some point in the night, Geralt had slung his arm around Jaskier’s waist, fingers brushing his ribs. Jaskier sleeps peacefully. 

On the other side, Yennefer is laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, but she’s playing with his hand, gently lifting one finger then setting it down, then the next and so on. He wiggles his fingers and she turns to him. They stare at each other, she shifts, rolls to her side, cradles his face. Her mouth opens and shuts in false-starts. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. A blanket apology for anything she could say. Sorry for getting in over my head. Sorry for getting stabbed. Sorry for nearly dying. Sorry for scaring you. 

She softens. “Don’t do it again.” 

It’s not a promise he can keep, and she knows it. Instead, he drags her down for a kiss, chases the taste of her. She nips his bottom lip, and he groans, feels her smile against his lips. Jaskier shifts in his arms, his chin digging into Geralt’s chest. 

Yennefer pulls away a little. Jaskier blinks owlishly, still exhausted. “Enjoy the show?” she teases. She kisses the tip of Jaskier’s nose, he blinks and he smiles slow. 

“What happened, Yen?” Geralt asks. 

“The book dealer sold me out. Those men knew exactly what to do with a mage.” She cursed. “Dimeritium in some kind of smoke bomb.” Jaskier reaches for her, and she takes his hand in her own, and Geralt isn’t sure who is comforting who. “Next thing I knew, Jaskier was with me in that awful room, you were fighting and he was trying to break me free of the shackles.” 

He taps his fingers along Jaskier’s ribs. “How did you know?” 

Jaskier sits up, opens his mouth and a weak croak comes out before a high keening. The sound vibrates through Geralt’s bones, he feels it in his teeth. Jaskier’s mouth closes, and he points to his throat, pouts more dramatically. He then points to Yennefer, then to himself, tapping his chest—no his heart. 

“You knew I was in danger?” Yennefer’s eyes narrow on Jaskier. 

Jaskier raises a hand, tips it one way then the other. Like he knows they aren’t getting it, he reaches out and grabs Yennefer by the throat. It’s a light hold, like even for effect can’t stomach the idea of hurting her. 

She looks from Jaskier to Geralt and he sees the moment she understands something he hasn’t yet grasped. 

“You thought I was dying.” 

Jaskier’s eyes become a little glassy, that high pitched sound escapes him again, and he goes to her, holds her in a way she doesn’t usually allow. Yennefer likes her space, she doesn’t like the way Jaskier is like a clingy octopus, leaves that for Geralt to deal with, and they’re all happy with the arrangement. 

This is different. Jaskier trembles, and the sound escapes him, just a little. 

“Banshee,” Yennefer whispered. 

All the pieces finally click into place. It’s not anything Geralt had guessed, but makes a poetic kind of sense. He sits up, careful with the healing wound that feels irritatingly tight. He settles behind Jaskier, rubbing his back. “We’re all alive.” A long wailing note. “It’s okay, shhh.” 

“This nightgown is expensive, you better not get snot on it,” Yennefer says. 

Jaskier’s crying paused, a snort, a sniffle, and he pulled back from her. “I wouldn’t dare,” he says with a voice that sounded too deep, too pained to be Jaskier. 

“Banshees are specters—” Geralt says.

“Not always,” Yennefer cuts in, staring at Jaskier. 

“I died when I was little, just for a brief moment. Too much water in my lungs before my father managed to get me to spit it up,” Jaskier says. “Ever since then… I just… know. It’s not… not everyone just… just those I really, really care about.” He turns and clings to Geralt this time. “You were dying. Not like Yen, she was the implication of death, but you, you were— _Geralt_.” 

He holds Jaskier tighter, almost crushing him to his chest. “I’m okay.” 

“You were drifting. I couldn’t let you go, I wouldn’t I—” his voice breaks and gives out on him again, nothing more than that soft cries. 

“You’re not the only case of Banshee-like abilities,” Yennefer says. “They say they can hold souls for as long as they can scream. You did good, little flower. You held Geralt when he was slipping away so I could heal him.” 

Jaskier physically holds him tighter, tucks his face against Geralt’s neck. “We’re all here,” Geralt says. “We’re all together.” 

Eventually, Jaskier cries himself out, falls asleep and goes limp in Geralt’s hold, and Yennefer helps guide them back down to the mattress. 

“It’s a shame, really,” Yennefer says dryly. “My money was on siren blood somewhere in Jaskier’s bloodline.” 

Geralt grins. “Mine was on elf blood.” He raises a brow. “Has the banshee thing slowed his aging? Is that the case in the others you’ve heard of?”

“It didn’t come up,” Yennefer says, laying down with them. She props her head up in her hand. 

“My money remains on elf blood,” Geralt says.

She clicks her tongue. “Betting on our Jaskier like that—”

“You’re just mad he’s not part siren,” Geralt whispers.

“You can’t prove he’s not,” she hisses back. She sighs. “I should have taken incubus before Lambert did.” 

“He’s not a demon—”

“You’re telling me, that with his sex-drive, incubus isn’t on the table?”

“I like pie,” Jaskier mutters in his sleep and both Yennefer and Geralt struggle not to laugh. “Oh, apple pie a plenty—”

“Well, he’s back to talking in his sleep, all is well with the world,” Yennefer says with heavy sarcasm, but a serene smile on her face. In a rare choice, she tucks herself in close to Geralt’s side, and he revels in the feel of both his lovers against him. 

They are still three; The Witcher, The Sorceress, and The Bard. 


End file.
